Risa’s bathroom was small and quiet, the kind of place people believed could keep secrets. The walls were lavender, faded in places, and the tiles were white with pink lines that had yellowed over time. Everything was clean. Too clean.

  Water dripped into the tub. Slow. Steady. Each drop landed with a hollow sound, like a clock that had forgotten what it was counting down to.

  Steam hung in the air. The mirror was fogged, showing only a blur where a face should have been. Risa stood behind the shower curtain, her shape soft and indistinct, like she might disappear if you looked away too long. The water ran over her head and shoulders, flattening her hair against her neck. She stayed there longer than necessary, as if the heat could rinse something out of her that soap never would.

  When she shut the water off, the silence rushed in. The dripping sounded louder now. She wrapped herself in a towel and stepped onto the bath mat, leaving dark footprints that soaked in and vanished almost immediately. The mirror reflected her outline but gave nothing back. She wiped her face and stared anyway.

  Outside, the city went on. Cars moved. Horns blared. Somewhere, people laughed. None of it cared.

  Later, the sky was clear and blue, sharp enough to hurt your eyes if you stared too long. Downtown was busy, full of bodies moving with purpose, or at least pretending to.

  Ryoichiro walked beside Risa, close enough to touch but careful not to. They moved with the crowd, yet somehow apart from it.

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  Ryoichiro kept adjusting his sleeves, his collar, anything his hands could reach. Risa didn’t fidget. She wore black like it was armor. A blouse trimmed with lace. A checked skirt. Heavy boots that hit the pavement with confidence. Beads hung around her neck, dark and foreign. Silver flashed at her wrists. The jacket on her back bore a stitched symbol that drew looks whether people meant to stare or not.

  Ryoichiro noticed every one of them.

  She looked like she belonged to a different version of the city, one that ran beneath the sidewalks and behind locked doors. He looked like someone who had taken a wrong turn and was hoping no one would notice.

  They stopped outside a café. Warm light spilled through the window. Risa leaned forward to peer inside, smiling.

  “Did you really have to wear all this?” Ryoichiro asked. His voice came out smaller than he intended.

  She grinned. “Of course!”

  She told him about protection. About silver. About beads smuggled from places he’d only ever seen on maps. About an esper who said the world was thinner than people liked to believe.

  Ryoichiro nodded along, unsure where disbelief ended and something else began.

  She spun to show him the back of her jacket, proud of the stitches she’d sewn herself. “I made this,” she said. “It mattered.”

  “It looks… effective,” he said, which earned him a laugh.

  She leaned in, too close. “Tell me I look cute.”

  He didn’t answer. He asked where they were going instead.

  She pouted, then walked ahead, forcing him to follow.

  Inside the café, the air smelled like coffee and old wood. The barista nodded at Risa. Ryoichiro stared at the menu like it might offer instructions on how to behave. They sat in the corner. Risa talked. He listened. Eventually, he relaxed. A little.

  A server slipped Risa a piece of paper. Ryoichiro watched her read it. The smile didn’t reach her eyes this time.

  “It’s the address,” she said. “The esper.”

  Ryoichiro hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  Risa shrugged. “Too late to pretend we aren’t curious.”

  They left the café together. The paper stayed clenched in Risa’s hand.

  As they walked, Ryoichiro felt something settle in his chest. Not confidence. Not courage. Just the quiet understanding that once you step toward certain doors, the world does not let you step back the same way.